More About the Cock

Hancock that is. Pervs.

I HATED the ending. After Hancock realizes that he and Charlize can't be together without it killing them, he flies from California to New York. Literally flies. Away from his other half. From the woman who he was destined to be with. She ends up with her husband and her non-biological kid and is happily eating ice cream and staring at the moon when the movie ends.

Except that the film assumes that we will forget a couple of things. For one, she's immortal. She is going to outlive her beautiful husband and child and any other man she falls in love with. She is destined to watch the people she loves grow old and die over and over. Which is an incredibly depressing treatise on love.

And, hello, she's a superhero! She's as strong, possibly stronger, than Hancock. So what, she's never going to use that now? Will she ignore the horrors of the world? The crimes she can prevent? Yes, and why? Cause she's a chick. Call me a militant feminist if you want. Hell, I'll take it as a compliment. But there is very little that can explain why she can ignore her calling to protect people and it's okay, but when Will Smith is pissing away his superheroness, it's a tragedy. According to the writers of Hancock a woman's true destiny is to live the suburban life of wife and mother. How very Republican of them.

In Which I Spoil the New Will Smith Movie

So, Hancock. First of all, the title just begs to be giggled at. Heehehe. Cock. Ok, I'm done. Now before I talk about what a disappointing movie it is, let me talk about Will Smith. Damn. That's all.

Fine, there's more. He's hot. First and foremost. He may be my new unattainable celebrity crush. He's also extraordinarily talented at what he does. He is the only actor I can think of who can play a superhero who looks like an actual superhero (and not a skinny little Spidey one, Tobey Maguire) but acts like a regular guy. Albeit, a guy with issues. My point is, I was predisposed to like this film.

Hancock also features Jason Bateman in a very prominent, juicy role that uses his sarcastic wit and non-smarmy smile to full advantage. Bateman was so good on Arrested Development that I've been waiting for him to be given a star vehicle. This isn't the movie, but it comes close. In a couple of scenes he manages to steal focus from both Smith and Charlize Theron, and that is a testament to his talent and his every guy good looks.

And lastly, let's talk about Charlize. I am convinced she made out with the hair, make-up and wardrobe departments, because she has never looked so effortlessly beautiful. Her suburban mom with a secret is underused, and she has a transformation that's as believable as the one she made for Monster, but she does her best.

And now I spoil. Seriously, if you want to see this movie, stop reading.

Charlize Theron is a superhero too! And she and Will Smith are immortal! And married! That is the twist. They have been pulled together and apart for more than 3,000 years, and because of an 80-year old blow to the head that left him with amnesia, Hancock has no idea.

And that is where the movie fell apart for me. What started as a funny, interesting look at what would happen if the ultimate good guy became a boozing, foul-mouthed asshole morphed into a meditation on relationships and fate. Smith and Theron are meant for each other but when they are close together for too long, their powers fade and their mortality makes them vulnerable.

That is the moral of the story. Love makes us vulnerable. It's a good moral, and if the movie had delved more deeply into why the two of them couldn't make it work despite their love being created by a higher power, I might have enjoyed it. Instead, I was left vaguely unsettled and more than a little disappointed.

A Rainy Day

Cyd Charisse passed away on Tuesday. She had been married for 60 years to the same man and didn't look close to her age. She was a beautiful, graceful woman. One of the few female dancers who could draw focus from Gene Kelly.

When I saw Singin' In the Rain the first time, I didn't "get" her. The entire dance sequence bored me. As I got a older and just a touch wiser, I realized that she was an exceptional performer. Watching her dance. Watching her move. I was suddenly aware of what the human body, particularly the female one, could do. It made me even happier when I found out she was 30 when she made that film. Not old in normal people years, but ancient in the world of dancing.

She left behind a lovely legacy of dance and film. Brigadoon and Silk Stockings come to mind. But when I hear her name, I'll always think of a leggy brunette in a green dress tempting Gene Kelly with a seductive dance.

Lights On!

You know what is an excellent idea if you haven't been sleeping well? Watching The Silence of the Lambs for the first time on a dark, cold Sunday night.

I have a fairly extensive knowledge of movies, and Hannibal Lector is a cultural icon. I've quoted the film for years despite being too scared to watch it until now. So brilliant woman that I am, I thought that I could handle what is considered one of the most terrifying movies of the last thirty years.

Hoo boy, not so much. The entire movie is just so brilliant. Jodie Foster's beautiful blue eyes act as conduits for the audience into the mind of Hannibal. It's a vulnerable and moving performance that was rightfully rewarded with an Oscar. And Anthony Hopkins chews the hell out of the scenery in the best way. Watching him made me feel as though I was watching Beethoven compose.

And maybe, just maybe I would have been alright watching the two of them. But friggin' Ted Levine. That man scared the shit out of me. "It puts the lotion on the skin or it gets the hose again." Aaaaah! Ok, and also a little hee! I love that line. I don't like to use the word brave to describe an actor. It's not as though he's running into burning buildings or anything, but Buffalo Bill would have been a ridiculous caricature in the hands of a lesser actor. Levine makes him eminently believable. It's the honesty of the character that kept me up last night. Waiting for a man with night-vision goggles and a desire to wear my butt.

Cultural Snobbery Pisses Me Off

If you think that liking foreign films makes you a better person than me because one of my favorite movies is Tommy Boy, I've got nothing for you. If you scoff at anything that's "mainstream" or popular, please stay away from me.

Hey, I watched Spirited Away in the original Japanese. I know who Akira Kurosawa and Jean-Luc Godard are. Big fucking deal. My love of ee cummings and Kandinsky does not nullify my love of fart jokes.

Look, I know that I have better taste than most people. If you are one of my friends, feel proud, because, hello, good taste. But I am also aware that every single person on the planet thinks that what he or she loves is superior to all other crap. It's a duh kind of statement really, but too many assholes forget that their love of The 400 Hundred Blows has no bearing on their importance as people.

I know that the United States is dumbing down at an alarming rate, but the solution isn't to become insular and elitist. Take a cue from your kindergarten class and share with the other kids. And for the love of god, don't feel guilty about the things that you enjoy. Unless you love Clay Aiken, in which case, make like Clay and keep it in the closet.

Kill Screen Hero

My word did I love The King of Kong, a documentary about the pursuit of the highest score on Donkey Kong. There's a dude, Billy Mitchell. And he's a total dick. At the beginning of the film, he is the world-record holder of the highest score. When Steve Wiebe, a husband, father and complete sweetheart sets a new record, Billy manages to get the score invalidated. Because he is. A DICK.

What follows is an almost Biblical match-up between these two men. Except that Billy refuses to play Steve live. Instead, he punks out and sends a videotape of his reclamation of the record.

I absolutely love documentaries like this. Trekkies and Wordplay come to mind, and I'm sure there are more. None of these movies cover ground-breaking or controversial topics. The people in them aren't famous or ticy-actory types. They are "normal" men and women who spend their lives watching Star Trek or doing crossword puzzles or playing Donkey Kong.

The best part about Kong is the strange men who hang on the periphery of Billy and Steve's lives. Billy has several little minions who tread somewhere between the ridiculous and the sublime.

I recommend this movie to anyone who has a sense of humor and a love of obsessive devotion to the small things in life.

Huh

So, I'm not sure why, but I am more moved to get in shape by the sight of men who are cut than women who are buff. Rocket Science, I know. But for serious, when you're trying to motivate yourself to go for a walk or lift a weight that's heavier than a Hershey's Bar, you'd think that turning to women whose fitness you admire would inspire you.

Now for sure I am amazed by women who look like they could take on a tank. Jennifer Garner in Alias. Angela Bassett in . . . well, anything. Jessica Biel in Blade: Trinity (shut up! She looked really good.)

But these women inspire me in a metaphorical way. What has made me feel the need to get really ripped this summer is Ryan Reynolds. Gerard Butler. Huge Jackman. And not just because I want to have sex with every one of them. It really isn't (just) a sex thing. Yes, they are beautiful, and I would like to do dirty things to all of them . . . preferably at the same time. But I find the male form inspiring to my own fitness and buffacity (I can't believe I just made up that lame-ass word). Maybe the display of raw testosterone taps into something primal in me. Or maybe I just need to get laid.

I saw The Sixth Sense in the theater with my brother. I was one of those people who got completely sucked in. I did not figure out that Bruce Willis's character was dead until the wedding ring hit the floor. I can still remember where I was in the theater and the reactions of the other people.

M. Night Shyamalan has spent many years and movies trying to recapture that magic, but I wish he would stop. Not making movies but trying to duplicate the gasp factor he achieved with his first film. The Sixth Sense wasn't great because it surprised me, but because it moved me. The entire cast nailed it and the writing didn't give anything away but it didn't hold back. Watching it now, I am amazed at how many clues I got before the big reveal.

I think that's why it's such an amazing movie. It reminds us that no matter how closely we think we're paying attention, we miss hundreds of small details every day. About places and events but especially about people.

Yay New Movies!

I am wildly excited about Iron Man. I adore Robert Downey Jr. Despite his troubled past, he has stayed brilliant and delicious. He was my second favorite thing about Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, though not even he could outdo Val Kilmer camping it up as a detective named Gay Perry.

Totally Bad Ass

Before The Matrix, there was Blade. The Wachowski Brothers owe a lot to David S. Goyer and Stephen Noyer, the writer and director of the first film.

But the look, the special effects, the black leather and the slow-mo bullets wouldn't have meant anything without Wesley Snipes holding the movie together. The paradox of Blade is that it is one of Snipes' best roles, but it also led to him becoming a sullen, martial-arts obsessed action star. Which is too bad, because the man has chops (no pun intended), and he is stone-cold gorgeous. I'm sorry that he got popped for tax evasion. Three years in jail is ridiculous, btw. Paris Hilton drove drunk and got 27 days. He ignored the IRS and got over 1,000. Bullshit.

p.s. Kris Kristofferson was 62 when he co-starred in the movie. 62. And he looked fine.

A Few Girly Flicks

So, I saw Baby Mama Friday night with the lovely and brilliant Erin. The movie made me laugh out loud many times. My girl Tina was lovely and sad and sweet. And Steve Martin stole every fucking scene he was in. But I didn't love it as much as I wanted to. I know that my expectations were ridiculously high. 30 Rock is officially my all-time favorite show, and I identify strongly with Liz Lemon. 

I'm not sure I can explain why I was (mildly) disappointed. Which is just super since I'm writing a blog about it. Ok, here goes. The movie didn't have enough heart. Before I saw it, I was under the impression that Ms. Fey had penned the film. It was actually written by a man. Now, the simple fact of his gender has little to do with my disappointment I think, and I have no doubt that Fey and Amy Poehler had a lot of input into their characters and the dialogue. But something seemed forced. I didn't feel as though I was watching real people or real relationships. And the ending was way too pat. I was frustrated that everything tied up so neatly, mostly because the film was supposed to be about a woman whose world is shattered when she realizes that not everything can be planned and not all of our dreams can be fulfilled. 

Having said that, it is worth seeing in the theater to see Steve Martin portray a long-haired, corporate hippie who vacations with Oprah and communes with Deepak Chopra. Seriously.

Movie tickets are ridiculously expensive these days, but I couldn't help spending another 10 dollars on Saturday night to see Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. What a lovely movie. Frances McDormand is perfect, of course, and titian-tressed Amy Adams does a wonderful impression of Marilyn Monroe, and I mean that as a compliment. 

The story revolves around a woman, McDormand, who is a failure as a governess. In a desperate attempt to save herself from the soup kitchen, she steals an assignment from the agency for whom she used to work. When she arrives on the doorstep of one Ms. Delysia Lafosse, she finds that the young woman does not need a governess so much as a handler. She is juggling three men while trying to make her name as an actress in London's West End. 

Like Baby Mama everything ends neatly tied up, and all the people who deserve happy endings receive them, but I didn't mind as much in this film. And it has nothing to do with the fact that Lee Pace, playing Delysia's poor but passionate true love, is so yummy he makes my teeth ache. I adored him in the show Wonderfalls, and I fell head over heels for him in Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. Plus, Ciaran Hinds is in the movie and hot. Also, I met him. And tried not to drool. Ahem.

Speaking of hot men, I don't get the obsession with Patrick Dempsey. He is handsome and not untalented, but he doesn't do it for me. To be fair, I am also unmoved by Brad Pitt, so perhaps it's time to have my eyes checked. And since I'm talking about Patrick Dempsey (ah, the awkward segueway), Enchanted  is another movie that I invested with unfair expectations. I was so certain that I'd like it, that I bought it sight unseen. 

I love Amy Adams. I loved her in Drop Dead Gorgeous, a highly underrated black comedy that should have made her and everyone else in it a huge star immediately. She's funny without relying on that ridiculous handicap of being the pretty girl who falls down a lot. (Are your ears burning, Teri Hatcher?) I am also a huge fan of James Marsden. He is so gorgeous and wildly expressive. Plus, dude can sing. 

What bothered me about the movie is small, but maybe not so much. In the beginning of the film, Dempsey's daughter is dressed in a Karate outfit and learning about strong women from her dad. By the end of the film, she is wearing a dress and obsessed with all things girly. Now, I am not anti-dress. Nor am I anti-princess. I own Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast. 

My problem is with the codification of femininity. Girls wear dresses. Boys wear pants. Girls have long hair and sing pretty songs. Boys go out into the world and cut things down and build bridges...or something. Gender roles are still incredibly stringent in this world and in this country. Women can venture into areas that used to be reserved for men, though not without some trepidation. But heaven forbid a man enjoy something that's considered feminine. 

All the glowing reviews made me think that the movie was some revolutionary take on the princess story, but really it was more of the same. Which is too bad, because I almost feel as though it could have been redeemed for me if Giselle had ended the movie in a Karate class with the daughter, dressed to fight and unafraid to be a strong, independent 3-D woman. Maybe next time.